


Spared

by DeepSeaChallenger



Category: Assassin's Creed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepSeaChallenger/pseuds/DeepSeaChallenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arno and Élise saw Shay before he reached the meeting, and intervened by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spared

**Author's Note:**

> Me and my what-ifs.

Shay worked his way through the palace, murmuring apologies to those he bumped and stepping out of the way for the elderly.  
When he wasn't ducking out of guards' sight (He really wasn't supposed to be here.) he was thinking.  
What if Dorian was in the meeting already? Would he have to kill all of them?  
Before he set sail for France, Haytham had come to him and explained everything he needed to know. The date. The time. Names of informants. Names in the Dorian family.  
He had a son, apparently.  
"How old?" Shay remembered asking.  
Haytham's eyes hardened. "That doesn't matter. I want this man killed, and your... prize.... taken."  
Alright, that was suspicious.  
"And you'll do it for me, Shay. For us."  
He stepped past a man playing the violin and started for the door leading into a small courtyard.  
As he walked, his resolve grew and he clenched his hidden blade hand. He'd do this. For the Templars. Two children stood near the doorway, one dressed in green, the other a flamboyant dress.  
Shay shrugged inwardly and started to walk past, trying to look casual. Although, one thing he had learned about himself, was that when he was trying to look casual, he was doing exactly the opposite.  
"I'm Arno."  
"Élise-"  
"Who are you?" The boy asked sharply.  
Shay froze. "M-me?"  
"You don't look aristocratic." The girl quipped.  
He rolled his eyes inwardly. These children must have been used to money. And these were his best clothes; he didn't care much for the frilly, pointless suits that were becoming fashionable.  
They were both looking at him now. He had to think of something.  
"Ooh, are you here on important business?" The boy- Arno- lowered his voice and tried to make it deep and official. Both he and the girl burst into giggles.  
Shay felt his stomach grow cold. Could he be.....?  
"I- I am here... on official buisiness." Shay forced a smile. It couldn't be. Too many people were here. Maybe he was the cook's son or something.  
"What kind of business?" Élise asked.  
"With the.. ah, king. For.... for the good of France...." Shay said helplessly. No. This boy didn't belong to Charles. He had nothing to worry about.  
"Hmm." Arno squinted at him. "Are you sure? You don't look dressed all extra-extrav-"  
"Extravagant?" He suggested. Damn. He was supposed to have been out of the Palace by now, Box in hand. Not correcting children's words.  
"Yes! Extravagant!" Arno stepped forward and wrapped his little hands around Shay's big hand. "You don't have to wear such big, thick gloves, you know. Father says this place is very clean."  
"Your.... father?"  
"Charles Dorian." Arno said casually, taking Shay's hand and trying to match his fingers with the Templar's. His fingers barely reached the end of Shay's palm.  
"You don't say." He said dumbly. This was why Haytham didn't tell him.  
He'd be taking this boy's father away from him.  
Shay felt his knees grow weak and suddenly drew his hand back.  
The children stared at him with round eyes.  
"Have you taken ill, sir?" The girl asked. Her brow knit in concern- the kind of concern only a very young child can have- and she looked to Arno. "What if he gets the rest of us sick?" She whispered loudly at him.  
Shay almost laughed at her failed secrecy. "No, I'm not sick. I'm fine."  
"So what are you doing here?" Arno pressed. "Still going to finish your official buisiness?"  
Shay looked down the hall and, in fact, did feel sick.  
"No.... no, I'm not. It's... for someone else to finish for me, I suppose." Shay saw Charles Dorian's face appear in the crowd congregated in the main hall from the courtyard and looked at the boy. "If I ask you to tell your father something, can you tell him?"  
Arno and Élise shared a look.  
"Yes, sir." Arno said seriously.  
Shay knelt and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Tell him to come back here, the Palace of Versaille, as soon as the clock strikes twelve tonight."  
"Why?" Élise asked. "Is it important?"  
"This is my official business. Speaking to you." Shay straightened and stuck out his hand. Arno shook it vigorously, his tiny hand quite powerful for such a young boy.  
As he turned to leave, Arno stopped him.  
"Who should I say it's from?"  
"Shay."  
Arno's eyes narrowed. What? Had he said wrong?  
"You're really not French, are you?" He inquired slowly. Élise tugged his arm.  
"Let's go tell your father!" She laughed.  
"No," Shay told him, "I'm not."  
Then he left.

***  
Shay waited in the same courtyard, having clambered down when his watch struck midnight.  
He found a half-empty bottle of wine in the study nearby and leaned against the wall, drinking it slowly and listlessly tracing the intricate patterns in the walls above with his eyes.  
At last he heard approaching footsteps and watched the door leading from the study, sipping his wine.  
Charles Dorian appeared within seconds, dressed not in his fine clothes, but the robes of an Assassin. He paused in confusion and gazed at Shay with a look of dismay.  
To push aside the man's concern- Shay couldn't bring himself to kill him after seeing Arno- he took one final gulp and offered the bottle to Dorian.  
The Assassin eyed it with a look of disinterest. "You."  
"Me."  
"Who are you?"  
Shay shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. A fog was settling in his mind. "Shay Patrick Cormac."  
Dorian's eyes flared. "I expected an Assassin."  
He put the empty bottle down and crossed his arms. "You got a Templar."  
The man stepped forward, his hidden blade engaging.  
Shay stopped him by pushing himself off the wall and drawing his sword. "Peace, Charles."  
"You're him. The Assassin Hunter come to kill me." He hissed.  
Shay shook his head. "You'd like to think that, don't you? I've seen that son of yours. He sees a father in you. I'm not taking a boy's father."  
Dorian didn't relax. "And?"  
"Well, I just drank half a bottle of wine. If you're really up to it, pick a fight, and you'll probably win... but I didn't come here for that. I came for just one thing."  
"And what's that?"  
"The Box."  
"It's always about the Box, isn't it?"  
"I want it."  
The Assassin scowled. "Didn't know you were a brat."  
Maybe it as the wine, but Shay's temper snapped and before he realized it, he held a struggling Charles against the wall, his hidden plade pressed to the man's throat.  
"Listen to me, and listen to me good." Shay hissed, pushing his face close so their noses almost touched.  
Dorian spat in his face.  
"I just want to Box. You want the truth? I was sent here to kill you. To kill you and get the box before you laid eyes on your precious boy again. But I've seen the light in his eyes and I'm damned if I end your life and leave him fatherless. So come on!"  
His eyes softened. "I don't have it with me."  
"Bring it. Be back here tomorrow by dawn." Shay growled. "And when you get home tonight, shower that boy with gifts, because I do this for his sake, not yours."  
"The Assassins will find out."  
"No, they won't." Shay said firmly. "Because I'm not telling anyone how I obtained it. If anything, you were attacked and the Box was stolen. Your life was spared."  
"But-"  
"What? Not believable enough?" He asked, releasing Charles and backing away.  
"No. It is. But if I was attacked and robbed, I would look the part."  
"Well, then let me help you with that." Shay drew back his fist and punched Dorian in the jaw, then did it again, and once more. "Good enough?"  
"Good." Came the faint reply. "Now get out of my sight."  
Shay did as he was told and vanished.

***  
Severa, hours of fitful sleep in an old inn later, Shay arrived back at the Palace and dropped down into the enclosed courtyard, looking around warily. In the corner, Charles Dorian sat with his arms crossed, the Precursor Box in his lap.  
He looked more beat up than Shay had left him.  
"I can't believe this. Conspirating with a Templar. Bloody treason." He muttered.  
Shay held out an expectant hand. "Not treason. More like... bartering. Your life for the Precursor Box. A fair deal, if I ever saw one."  
"You said you wouldn't kill me." Dorian's eyes lingered on the sword and knife at Shay's hips a moment too long before shifting back to his face.  
"I will if I have to." Shay said solemnly.  
Dorian bit his lip. "You won't tell anyone?"  
"No. Better yet, I'll leave France without saying a word.  
"Good luck with that."  
"I make my own luck."  
"I could kill you right now."  
"As can I."  
Mutual understanding. Still, Shay checked for the comfort of his pistols on his hips. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he found he had them.  
"Here." Dorian stood and held out the Box. "Leave France, and never return."  
Shay took it and nodded to him. "You have a fine young boy, Charles. Take care not to betray that."  
He turned and left the Palace through the regular entrance. It was over.  
He had the Box.  
And no one had to die.

***  
"You what?!?!" Haytham slammed down the tankard against the table to emphasize his point.  
"I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."  
"And yet you did. Why?"  
"You're going to find out eventually." Shay fought to keep his voice low in the tavern. Beside him at the table, Gist drank his rum and focused on the Box sitting before them.  
"Why the hell would you let him live?! Do you know why I sent you to kill him?"  
Shay lowered his eyes. "No, Grandmaster."  
"How do you not... He is an Assassin. You swore an oath, Shay." Haytham stood up, placing his hands on the the table and leaning forward. His demeanor, Shay realized with a sinking heart, was the one he always wore when he banished someone from the Order.  
"Maybe this is too harsh..." The words died in Gist's throat by a poisonous look from Haytham.  
"The only reason I haven't banished you from the Order is because of your previously unwavering loyalty. But should this ever happen again..." Haytham lowered his head so his eyes were level with Shay's. "You won't be absolved of treason against us."  
Shay felt his temper rise again. Before he could stop himself, he opened his big mouth.  
"This is your fault, Master."  
Gist, who had been calmly tilting his head back to drink his rum, now sat forward, spitting the rum out of his mouth across the table and slamming the tankard down loudly. Haytham ignored this and kept his gaze on Shay.  
"You didn't tell me the boy's age! He's too young to lose his fucking father!"  
Everyone within ten feet stopped to stare at them.  
Haytham's eyes turned glassy and he opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.  
"You really think-" His voice cracked and he straightened, tipping his hat forward so it almost covered his eyes, then turned and left the tavern without saying another word.  
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Gist choked.  
He wasn't listening. He was staring at the door.  
"Did you hear me? No one questions the Grandmaster."  
"I .... I just did." Shay mumbled, forcing his eyes away from the door. "Get me an ale."  
Gist bobbed his head and left the table, so Shay sat alone, broodingly gazing at the Box.  
He had just gone against the Order and questioned the Grandmaster.  
But he had spared two lives.  
It was worth it.


End file.
